tsarina

 

    Sara Nolan
    OLD DREAM OF YOU
    SURVIVING

   at my door, middle of the not-quite
   night, rattling.

   you want to be held, and will she
   see us? wandering by the gate,

   my mother’s glare, what man
   am I taking in?

   one foot down the stone
   step, your forehead
   pressed to my sleepless

   sternum, light beginning
    to climb your stooped
   & shaking shoulders.

   my mother passes, beam
   of distrust lowered

   to the cracking sidewalk.
   in my arms, dawn

   worming across
   the dirt sky, your gasps.

   she returns, gaping
   at the trellis made

   by our embrace; vines
   sprouting from our feet,
   latticing you to this world.